


Hell

by blissey



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fantasizing, Masturbation, Pining, Self-Loathing, Stream of Consciousness, not season 5 compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 19:39:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10974009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blissey/pseuds/blissey
Summary: She's in his blood - in his head and he hates, hates her and him and it and hates and hates. His bones burn with the Rider and the bad way this world messes with him; he puts his head between his knees. Pathetic.





	Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Written on 5/21/2017, right after 4x22 came out. Not compliant with S5. Robbie-centric.

Robbie expected Hell to be a burning place, full of vats of sin and bubbling flesh. Flames would lick at him, and the Rider would come out and blend in completely. What he didn't expect was this tundra - this frozen landscape, with barebones cabins hidden in the wood, full of prying demons and sinners with too-curious eyes and echoing voices.

Time doesn't really pass in Hell, or maybe it passes all at once - anyway, when Robbie's been there for a week or so he gets why it's cold here. It's the kind of cold that creeps into your bones, the joints groaning and your teeth clattering. He's cold to the core and he's lonely and miserable and he hates to say it but the best parts of his days are when the Rider takes over and Robbie Reyes gets a nap.

The dreams he has are all of her, in her golden halo and in the orange flame of his soul burning for eternity. He's warm when he thinks of her.

Cold soaks him through and through. The lesser spirits and trivial demons have the gall to sneer at him, and he tears into them. Not the Rider, just Robbie.

He wonders why he's here - the Rider took him from the living realm to the spirit realm and the magic realm but now he was forsaken by the Rider's sense of humor. He walks for days on end, looking. 

Days stretch into centuries, and Robbie raids the tundra, burning those truly horrible things back into the mystical realm they came from - the Rider can't take his flesh and bones there, but Robbie doesn't want him to. He raids a cabin that is half caved in, snarling and snapping at a sinner who tried to leech his hellfire body heat.

He sits on the floor and thinks, back against the rickety bed-frame.

He's pathetic, living a half life in hell while his mind is up above: he's on autopilot down here, barely breathing and letting the Rider take the reins while his body commits atrocities. He misses the other world, the one with Gabe and (he hates to say it) SHIELD. He misses speaking with Elena and Mack, and he misses annoying Fitz and Jemma and God, does he miss Daisy.

She's in his blood - in his head and he hates, hates her and him and it and hates and hates. His bones burn with the Rider and the bad way this world messes with him; he puts his head between his knees. Pathetic. They barely know each other and he can't let her go. He's never gonna get back there, why stay hung up on what could have beens and why nots? The Rider growls, heating Robbie's skin.

Robbie curses, slamming his fist. The Rider is right (he almost always is); if he is never gonna see her again, what harm could it do?

The thoughts run away from him: her skin in the dusk light, the way her eyes crinkle when she laughs, how she talked to Gabe. Her hair, how it was always so messy, so thoroughly _fucked_ \- heat pools in his belly, and Robbie lets the disgust subside, just a little.

Those jeans - he hated those jeans. He loved those jeans. They showed everything, the line of her underwear, the way her hips jutted out right under her navel, and that goddamn mesh shirt. That mesh shirt. It showed so much and yet she was out of Robbie's reach, just barely. He lets his head fall back, hitting the shitty cot. His hand hastily undoes his pants, palming himself through his boxers.

She always smelled like smoke and vanilla, sometimes with a little sandalwood thrown in. She probably put on perfume in the morning, thinking it might attract someone - her eyes flitted over Robbie, painfully committed to a dead guy or whatever shit excuse he told himself that day.

His cock is out now, and his gives it a stroke, squeezing his eyes shut and imagining that it's her doing it, with her gun callouses and her black fingernails and that one ring that bust his lip when she punched him.

Robbie groans, sinking into his own personal hell - she'd be over him, holding him in place as she used him (that's all he was, expendable). His cock jumps at the thought, and he exhales sharply. She'd be rough, bouncing on him as he presses bruises into her hips but they both know he's under her control, wholly and completely. He's too far gone.

He thinks of little things, like how natural she's looked in his car, and how they fought so well together, and how she looked at him sometimes, a little soft, a little happy. Stop it, asshole. Robbie squeezes his cock, thinking of her just talking to him, the way her mouth moves as she tells him a shitty joke or whatever. He bucks into his fist - she smiles at him, and Robbie thinks about how they fought when they first met, her body pressed up against his, her heels barely bringing her up to his chin.

Fuck. He strokes himself harder, thinking about taking her to his favourite hole in the wall restaurant back home and how afterward he might get to kiss her, to taste her, just once.

After a few dates (all nice and respectable, he used to be classy, goddamn it), she would follow him in, fitting in perfectly with the little Virgin Mary he keeps on the bright orange countertop. It's kitschy and stupid and he can kiss her against it, before she tugs him to his room.

Robbie spits, stroking quickly. It could be her - she could take him in her mouth, warming him up before she rides his face. He would worship her, lapping at whatever she gave him. After he makes her come, messily and all over his face (and there is an earthquake when she does come, Robbie makes sure of it), she rides him, kissing him so she can taste herself and -

He comes, hard and white-hot, across his torso, maiming his shirt. It's long and toe curling, and the Rider rumbles contently after he's calmed down a bit.

Sitting there, covered in his shame and sweat, Robbie realizes truly how disgusting he is.

**Author's Note:**

> My commissions are now open! [Click here](http://psylocke.co.vu/post/163229382900/writing-commissions-now-open) to see more. I'm trying to get out of a shitty home situation so help a sis out


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